Chapter 15

Arafinwë stood at the prow of his flagship, the steady wind streaming his hair behind him. The smell of the salt and the rush of the breeze felt so very good to him, reminding him of his hopes of a pleasant life by the sea with Eärwen before the loss of the Two Trees.  They had planned to build a house by the sea to which they could escape from the tension in his family in Tirion, but that dream as yet remained unrealized. Always the duties of royal life seemed to intervene, foiling his plans and spoiling his dreams.

He could see Alqualondë in the distance. What dreams lay forsaken on those shores now? What hopes were dashed by the point of a sword or the head of an arrow?

He returned with a much lesser force than the one with which he had departed these shores so many years ago. What was he to say to those who greeted him, seeking loved ones who would not return by sea but by the doors of the Halls of Mandos? He had come close to returning by the latter method more than once. But, he had been spared and now he lived to deliver the news of those who had not survived.

A house on the beach with his beloved Eärwen would be so very inviting, but such a luxury was beyond him now – now that he was king, now that he was returned from the war, now that he had transgressed so horribly that his wife, in all likelihood, would never want to see him again.

He had to tell her what he had done. She deserved to know, but then she would hate him and go away. She would live by the calming sea and he would be alone among the stone of Tirion, left to pick up where he had left off, left to persist in emptiness and sorrow, left to unassuageable grief with no outlet for his emptiness and pain.

He loved her. He never stopped loving her and did not believe he ever would stop loving her. But he had loved another as well…

The Valar had already punished him for this transgression, taking away his twins, denying his daughter pardon for her lack of repentance for her deeds of rebellion, keeping his dead sons in Mandos until Eru knew when…

Eärwen had every reason to hate him, and he had no doubt she would hate him even more for what he had done.

There was no comfort for him anywhere. Even many years and a victory over Morgoth later, no one knew what had truly happened to him. He dared confide in no one. Silent as a stone, he had remained about his years missing from the war. Everyone thought him damaged in some way by what had happened to him. Everyone blamed Morgoth. No one blamed him, but they all talked about him when they thought he could not hear. Ever since his return, he had endured their hushed tones and whispered discussion of him. How they would talk if they had known what had really happened to him!

No, no one could know what had befallen him and how he had fallen from grace in his wounded forgetfulness and grief. He would continue to remain silent as a stone and go live in his house of stone in his city of stone. He had been isolated and alone since Faroniel had died, he could remain alone.

It was going to hurt even more when Eärwen left him.

Angrily he wiped at the tears he felt falling from his eyes. Was it the sting of the wind or the barbs of his anticipation of grief? He shook his head. No, it was the grief of the parting he knew was to come. He wished he could blame the wind. He wished he could blame the war or Fëanáro or Morgoth or some other person or thing. But the fault was his and his alone to bear. He had been wounded and tired and weak.  He gave in to despair. He gave up. And therein lay his downfall. Therein lay his doom. Therein lay the despair that was to come. Losing all of his children and losing his beloved Faroniel were but the beginning. Now the rest of his punishment was at hand. He was going to lose Eärwen as well, and there was nothing he could do about it. He deserved it.

He deserved it.

“Your Majesty?”

He turned, hastily wiping at his face with his sleeves, to see one of the sailors standing a few paces away. Briefly he met the ellon’s gaze, but then the ellon cast his eyes down out of respect. “We will dock soon, your Majesty. I just climbed down from my turn as lookout and it appears as if the Ingaran and the Lindaran both await our arrival as well as a party of Noldor. Prince Ingwion’s ship will reach the dock momentarily. If you wish to prepare yourself to meet them, you should consider going to do so now.”

“Thank you,” Arafinwë replied, nodding his gratitude. “I will go below now and prepare. Please send Sulwion to attend me.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The sailor bowed, then departed.

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Ingwion still stood with his parents, wife, children, and grandchildren when Arafinwë’s ship finally docked. All of the royals in attendance were arrayed in finery, though the wind had had other plans for their hair. Tears of relief and joy still glistened on the faces of King Ingwë and his kin as they watched Arafinwë disembark.

The king of the Noldor would have liked to be the last off the ship, but tradition dictated otherwise. Taking a deep breath, Arafinwë squared his shoulders and proceeded to meet those who awaited him.

The Ingaran met him first with a tight embrace while whispering in his ear, “Welcome home, Nephew. I am so grateful to Eru that you have returned to Us safely.”

Ingwe’s wife embraced him next, confiding, “Your ammë has missed you so, but she could not bear to be here right now, knowing who would not be coming home with you. She still has not recovered from the loss of your brother and sister and her grandchildren. Please send her a message when you are able.” Kissing him on the forehead, she passed Arafinwë to the arms of his wife’s atar, the Lindaran.

“Ulmo answered my prayers for a safe journey on the sea. He told me he could do little for you once you were away from Aman, but he assured me that the Valar ever watched over you – especially in your times of trial and difficulty. I love you, my Son. I am so relieved you have returned home safely.”

King Olwë’s wife did not manage to say anything at all at first, struggling as she wept on Arafinwë’s shoulder. At last she managed to gasp, “Thank you for coming home, Child. Please do not ever leave again.”

The wind smeared hot tears on his face as Arafinwë managed a grateful nod to each of those whom he had embraced. No words had come to him at all the whole time he was in the arms of those who had greeted him thus far.

Ingwion smiled at him. “I could not manage to say anything to them either when they were hugging me,” he offered weakly.

Arafinwë nodded again, biting his lips and clenching his fists as he struggled to keep his emotions under control.

Then She stepped toward him, regally adorned in a sea green dress which shimmered whenever she moved just so as if drops of watery diamonds were sprinkled about her.

“Eärwen,” he breathed as he reached out to her. His hands glided across her shoulders and down her arms to catch fast around her waist. All of his strength, all of his resolve, all of his self-loathing evaporated in that moment as he fell to his knees in worshipful supplication before her, pulling her tightly to him. Pressing his face to her stomach, then nestling his head there against the place where his beloved children first dwelt, he tightened his arms around her. Silently he begged her forgiveness and pledged anew his undying love in words that screamed in his mind, but never reached his lips as he wept.

“Eärwen, my Eärwen,” was all he managed to say amidst his tears as she possessively pressed her hands against his head.

Soon she was on her knees, too, holding him, kissing his tears away, whispering his name.

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He had only vague memories of being helped to his feet and making the long trek to the palace and at last to the suite of rooms that was his whenever he visited Alqualondë. Eärwen had joined him for a hot bath, made all the warmer for her presence in the tub with him. Now she snuggled against him in true sleep, something from which he had only just awoken himself. Stars were just beginning to glisten in the patch of sky, peeking through the white curtains which fluttered lazily in the ever-present ocean breeze. Vaguely he wondered why no one had been sent to summon them to dinner with the kings. Surely there would be a feast of welcome on this auspicious occasion.

The sky grew darker and the stars brighter, but still no one came. Shifting Eärwen in his arms, he kissed her nose then her forehead. He turned, pressing the length of his naked body against hers as she sighed in her sleep. This was where he belonged, wrapped in the arms of his Maiden of the Sea.  Soon he slipped onto the Path of Dreams, remembering the first time he held her to him.

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The welcome home feast for royalty and nobility occurred the next evening. Once the other kings had learned of the extent of the losses, the cost of the hard-won victory, the original plans had changed. The folk who remained behind all rejoiced for those who returned home, but the memory of those who had not returned hung heavy upon all present.

Breaking with the tradition of arriving last amidst much pomp and fanfare, King Arafinwë stood alone at the door, personally greeting every guest whether they were nobles of the Noldor, Vanyar, or Teleri. Speaking words of condolence, he expressed his gratitude for service to the kin of the fallen nobility of the Vanyar and Noldor. To the Telerin lords who had leant the use of their ships for troop transport, he gave his personal thanks as well. Remembering Faroniel and her suffering in widowhood, he hugged and briefly held each tearful widow and each mother whose child had been lost in battle. To each returned fighter, he gave a warrior’s embrace. He also embraced in turn and expressed empathy to each son who had found himself lord of a house at the news that the previous lord now resided in Mandos’ halls. It took nearly two hours for the guests to file in. Those who had lost no kin to the fighting simply bowed and curtsied in surprise if not outright dismay at the breach in decorum as they passed by the Noldóran, but they were relatively few in comparison to those who had suffered loss.

Ingwë, Olwë, the three queens, and their kin remained apart in another room, awaiting the time for them to enter properly. As soon as the last guests had arrived and gone to their places, the rest of the royalty somewhat impatiently joined Arafinwë at the door, but Eärwen briefly pulled him back into the corridor.

Carefully she wiped his face with a handkerchief, removing the last vestiges of the many trails of tears. Primly, she straightened his clothing which had rumpled with all of the embracing, and adjusted his robes a bit to hide the stains of mourning left by the more emotional guests.

While the queen of the Noldor fussed over his appearance, a regally adorned Ingwion came up to him, his eyes sad and ashamed. “I wish I had known you were going to do that,” he gestured toward the doors. “I would have greeted the Vanyar at least and relieved you of some of the burden.”

Arafinwë shook his head grimly. “I wish you had joined me as well, for the burden belongs to both crowns, not just mine. However, I know in my heart what they are all going through and what they have yet to deal with in their sorrows. Few among them have lost what I have lost. No words or embraces can ever heal what they have yet to bear in their grief. I can only hope that the knowledge of my personal gratitude and sympathy will go a little ways in assuaging their sorrow.”

“You cannot possibly do this for everyone who lost kin to the war. Imagine how long that would take you! You are their king, not their caregiver. It took long enough for you to get through the guests tonight,” Ingwë’s younger brother commented disdainfully, rubbing his stomach as he turned to face the doors in preparation for entering the hall. “I hope the meat is not cold. I am famished.”

“I thought ‘king’ and ‘caregiver’ were synonymous,” Arafinwë muttered under his breath as Eärwen adjusted his crown.

“They are. Ignore him,” the Ingaran replied.

“I am proud of you, my Son,” the Lindaran said, clapping Arafinwë on the back.

Once the royal procession stood in place at the high table, Ingwë and Olwë spoke words of greeting and welcome to those present, for never before had all of the nobles of the three clans been assembled in one place, let alone joined together for a feast. When it was Arafinwë’s turn to speak, he reiterated the sentiments of welcome and pride in a war well fought. Pausing a moment he added, “I have observed many of you looking around at the empty chairs present at each table, including this table.” He gestured to the empty seat at the end of the high table.

“The servants did not miscount, as I have heard some of you comment. I ordered this. Each empty chair has a place setting prepared with plates, utensils, and glasses in honor of our kin who should have been here dining with us, but cannot be. The Lindar lost nobles in the kinslaying, the Vanyar lost nobles in war, and the Noldor lost nobles to both of those as well as to perils of life in Endórë. I ask each of you to take a few moments before you begin your meal and look at the empty place at your table. Please remember fondly those who should have been seated there this night but are not.”

After everyone took their seats, the hall remained silent for a time as guests seemed to comply with Arafinwë’s request. He himself considered the abundance of kin who should have been there with him, from his atar on down through the generations of slain members of the House of Finwë, including his little twins who could never even set foot in Valinor. Did they already reside in Mandos’ Halls with their amillë in the place reserved for mortals? That was something he would never know, and with a great tightness in his chest, he realized he did not want to know. It was easier to dwell on the happy memories of them as small children than to worry and wonder about whether they even survived childhood, or if they found love and had children of their own, or what mortal peril would or had finally claimed their lives. He would never be allowed to know their fates, so it was best to let them go. Heaving a great sigh, he knew he seldom did what was best of himself and accepted that those two little ones would forever reside in his heart beside his memories of the children Eärwen gave him.

Suddenly a flute began to play an old tune of remembering from the Day before Days and soon all of the musicians in the corner joined in. Eärwen quietly placed her hand over his where it rested on the table. He turned his hand, enfolding hers in his, but he did not turn his face to meet her gaze. His breath caught in his chest as he glanced again at the empty chair at the end of the table and realized that her chair would soon be empty as well, once she knew the truth about what he had done. He would be alone once again – more alone than ever before, for this time he would have full knowledge of all that he had lost and why.

The food immediately arrived but he found he suddenly had little appetite. Stifling a sob, he forced himself to eat, but he talked as little as possible during the meal, not trusting himself to keep his emotions under control. When the dancing started afterward, he participated only in those dances required of him on this formal occasion. As soon as custom and propriety allowed, he quietly retired to his chambers claiming weariness as an excuse. Eärwen stayed behind, dancing and singing gaily with her kin.

He struggled out of his finery on his own and set aside his crown. Donning a simple shirt and breeches, he sat outside on his balcony overlooking the harbor. With a glass of wine to keep him company, he listened to the rush of the waves intermingled with the dance music drifting up from the main hall somewhere far below. How he wished he could live beside the sea! For the next few hours he entertained himself with designing his cottage beside the sea and his garden and the fast ship he would build.

Arafinwë was almost asleep when Eärwen finally joined him in bed, the sky just beginning to lighten with thoughts of dawn. Tucking her securely beside him with her head on his shoulder, he closed his eyes and drifted away.

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The next day, King Arafinwë and Prince Ingwion, as leaders of the two armies, dismissed their warriors to return to their homes. The royals of the three clans remained in Alqualondë, as did their nobles for there was much to be discussed. At Arafinwë’s request, the privy councils and the royals of the three clans met, joined by Lord Eärendil who had just returned from an errand for the Valar.

The Lindaran’s council chamber sported tapestries of blue and green, depicting Ulmo and his Maiar servants among the waves. Through the myriad of windows, the sounds of the sea lulled and beckoned. Briefly from his seat to the left of Ingwë’s queen, Arafinwë wondered how Olwë’s councils ever stayed focused on the issues at hand with the temptations of the sea beckoning to them. However, with the sea as the primary source of trade and commerce, it suddenly made sense. Arafinwë still found it distracting through for he desperately wanted his house by the sea.

At a gesture from Ingwë, Arafinwë briefly squeezed Eärwen’s hand where it rested beside his, then began to speak. “With the return of our warriors from the war, the Noldor and the Vanyar will have much to do re-integrating the soldiers into the workforce. We lost of a lot of ellyn in the war and many villages will be impacted.”

“Arafinwë, this is a matter for the individual realms to address,” Ingwë commented. “We already know that we will have to deal with this, but each realm can deal with it on its own. Why bring this up here?”

“I bring it up because some villages will have been hit harder than others and we might need to call upon each other for resources, such as labor, if those who return are not able to handle what will be required of them in returning to their previous trades,” Arafinwë said.

Eärwen replied, “We have survived well enough, my Lord, without those ellyn on hand. Folk have taken up the burdens necessary to accomplish the tasks at hand, and in many cases we now create a surplus. Having the extra mouths feed as well as the extra laborers will not be a problem.”

“But,” Arafinwë continued emphatically, “What of those who return whose injuries prevent them from performing the tasks they used to do or those whose minds or spirits are damaged such that they cannot perform those tasks? We need to consider what must be done to train them in useful skills so they can survive and provide for their families so they are not a burden to them.” He knew from his own experiences when he went to live among the mortals, just what some of the returning warriors could face and it had taken him seven years to recover.

“Arafinwë,” Ingwë commented, “I realize you have just returned from much close association with the various folk of our lands, but little has changed here in Aman, while obviously things changed frequently where you spent the last several years. Where you were, it makes sense that folks with injuries to the body or spirit would have to be cared for among the masses, for there was no place else for you to put them.  Here in Aman, we have Lórien where folk can go to be healed. If someone is injured, they can go there for healing. There is no need for the crowns to get involved in the minute details of the lives of our folk. If an ellon returned from the war and he is damaged in some way, then Lórien is the place for him until he can return to his previous way of life.”

The members of the privy councils and royals all nodded in agreement except for Ingwion, Arafinwë, Eärendil, and their advisors from the war.

“Atar,” Ingwion spoke up, “those who went away to the war all experienced some terrible things and saw much that defies adequate description. I think that a fair number of ellyn may well be affected in the way King Arafinwë has described.”

“My Son, our people witnessed many dark and terrible things in the journey here from Cuiviénen,” Ingwë patiently explained, “Folk were even stolen away and never seen again, victims of Morgoth’s corruption. We who journeyed here cast that road and those experiences into dark memory and moved on with our lives, turning toward the light. We rose to greatness afterward, due in part to the hardships we suffered. You are young and never knew these things. In time, all folk learn to put the past into the past and look with comfort on the gentle present and perpetual promise of the future.”

Amidst many murmurs of affirmation, one of Olwë’s advisers, the lord of the House of the Seven Shells, observed, “Perhaps King Arafinwë speaks less concerning his own folk and more concerning misgivings concerning his own person. I have heard that he was a prisoner of Morgoth for seven years where he endured many things. Apparently mortal creatures had to rescue him because his own folk were incapable of rescuing him, or more likely, unwilling to. I should not be surprised if the latter were the case and that the Noldor may well have not forgiven him for the sins of his brothers and other kin in leading them astray.”

The lord turned to address Ingwë, “Your Majesty, any problems that the Noldor may have in coping have been brought upon themselves by their own actions. The only reason the good folk of Aman had cause to go to war and suffer whatever dark experiences they did was because of the Noldor. We of Aman owe the Noldor nothing. I will further venture that the Noldor owe the folk of Aman for any hardship experienced as a result of this war they brought upon us and upon themselves.”

“I would remind you all that the Valar called us to this war, not the Noldor,” Ingwion defended. “And our objective was to defeat Morgoth and aide the children of Eru in Endórë, not to rescue the Noldor who went into exile. In truth, most of those Noldor who went into exile were already dead before our army ever even arrived there.”

“A fate they clearly deserved,” another Lindarin lord muttered, and the Lord of the Seven Shells agreed.

“Sounds to me like another problem for the Valar to solve then for bringing this war upon us,” Olwë commented. “Yet another reason why I am glad I kept our people out of it.”

Arafinwë closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. No one had said anything in support of him and he had to admit that it hurt. However, he could not think of any way of defending himself without sounding prideful, thereby making the situation worse. Was it just the lingering anger of the Lindar against his folk for the kinslaying or was there more to it than that? He had no desire for petty self-serving Amanian politics when there were more important matters that needed to be addressed.

Fortunately a most indignant Ingwion came to his defense. “As for you, my Lord,” he hissed, glaring at the Lord of the Seven Shells, “I realize you lost your atar and your younger brothers on the point of Fëanáro’s own sword, however, your anger is misdirected. King Arafinwë (he placed great emphasis on the title) is so well loved by his folk that one hundred warriors among the Noldor immediately volunteered to go in search of him when we first discovered he was missing. I lost count of how many among the Vanyar also volunteered to go in search of him at the same time, for so many of my own folk wished to be a part of his rescue. Such was their love for King Arafinwë! Lord Eonwë forbade more than those first one hundred Noldor going in search of him, which turned out to be wise for they were ambushed by orcs and slaughtered to the last ellon. Morale among the Noldor deteriorated while their king was away, but upon his return they fought even more fiercely than before.”

He paused, looking around the table at each group of advisors. “As for the mortal creatures as you call them, they were our comrades-in-arms and in many ways our saviors in the war.”

“They passionately, indeed fiercely gave their brief lives, recruiting youths from their own villages,” Arafinwë continued with a grateful nod to Prince Ingwion. “Some villages sacrificed whole generations to the war – our war, when the fighting and conflict would not have impacted them otherwise. Speak of them respectfully, for they have earned our respect and our gratitude for their service to the Valar and to us. And, yes, I do owe Mortals my life for they succored and healed me so I could return to my army and go on to lead my folk to victory. Even the Valar themselves have praised the Mortals for their service.”

He shuffled through the papers on the table before him, notes he had written on the voyage home in preparation for this very meeting. “Which brings me to another important matter which we need to address, if not now, then very soon. When the Valar rent asunder the land of Beleriand, flooding it beneath the ocean’s waves in order to thoroughly destroy Angband and Morgoth’s surviving servants, they raised an island as a gift for the Mortals.”

Eärendil spoke up for the first time. “This new land, from which I have just returned on an errand for the Lord Manwë, is abundant with resources. It is called Númenor and is located about seven hundred miles from Aman. It is to be a realm of Mortals, ruled by Mortals. Specifically, it will be ruled by my son Elros who has chosen to be counted among mortal kind.  He is the ideal leader for these folk, claiming elven kinship with the house of Finwë, the house of Olwë, and the house of Elwë, and mortal kinship with the three houses of the Edain.”

“Why should any of this be of concern to us?” Ingwë asked.

“There are many reasons why this should concern us. First, it presents a unique opportunity for establishing new trade and new trade routes between us and the Mortals, which is something we have never had before. Economically, it could be very good for our kingdoms to be involved with trade and commerce with this land. Mortals tend to have many children, thereby increasing their populations rapidly, and therefore their need for goods. Trade would be by ship, which will benefit the Lindar immensely, providing the transport for this trade in addition to any goods or services they may wish to lend to this venture.”

Olwë nodded, clearly intrigued. “Tol Eressëa would need to be fortified with a better port. We could use the help of the Noldor in building a more suitable port city. However, each of our clans have suffered great losses in the last few hundred years. We might not have enough folk from each clan willing to relocate there to populate a port city.”

“Remember, the Valar have decreed that the returning exiles and other Elves who never left Endórë before have to reside on Tol Eressëa for a time of healing before they may come to Aman proper,” Ingwion reminded them. “We have a population for that port city and other cities already on its way here in the coming months and years.”

“But is Elros even interested in trading with us?” Ingwë asked, skepticism clearly evident in his voice and countenance.

“Yes,” Ingwion and Arafinwë both answered at the same time, grinning at each other.

“He asked our advice concerning ruling his folk, and we already have discussed with him at length the trade agreements that would be necessary as well as offering the assistance of the Noldor in building their cities,” Ingwion explained.

Ingwë shook his head. “I still am uncertain about this. My heart misgives me in this matter.”

“Why, Uncle?” Arafinwë asked. “How can you possibly say that after all that the Mortals have sacrificed for us? How can you deny them this opportunity to learn from us and deny us this opportunity to benefit from interaction with them?”

Ingwe took a deep breath as he turned to look at his son and then at Arafinwë. “Because, Nephew, the lands from which they hail, those same lands from which we originally came, are so tainted that death follows all who dwell there or have dwelt there. And death is unnatural. Olwë lost all of his kin who dwelt there – his brothers and their families with the sole exception of your daughter and her husband and Eärendil’s sons. Look what the false promise of those lands have cost the Noldor, have cost your family!  How many thousands of Vanyar and tens of thousands of Noldor died there in total? How many of the Lindar died because of folk striving to regain those lands?”

“But it is an excellent opportunity, your Majesty,” Eärendil pleaded.

“You mean it is an opportunity for you to keep in contact with your mortal son!” Ingwë angrily slapped his hand on the table, his breathing becoming ragged. “Damn it! I will not do anything more to sacrifice the safety of my people. We have paid for the welfare of mortal lands with enough blood!” Tears started from his eyes.

“What am I to tell my people, tell the people of Aman concerning this? How do I tell them association with another mortal land will be a good thing when I do not even know what I will say to the widows and fatherless families when I return to Vanyamar? This war was supposed to be a good thing for a good cause and yet…and yet so many of my dear friends have not come home and will not. So many of my people are dead.”

Ingwë suddenly rose from his seat, nearly knocking over the chair. “I will not endanger any more of my people! This discussion is over!” In a whirl of white robes, he turned and fled the room, slamming the door to the council chamber behind him.

In the silence that followed, everyone sat stunned, staring at the door. After a time, Ingwë’s queen arose as well. “I beg your indulgence for the sake of my husband. The events of late, well, since the death of the Trees really, have weighed heavily upon him. The Valar promised a land which perpetuates as we Elves do, free of evil and the taint of death. However, what have we seen these last few hundred years? Strife, rebellion, death, kinslayings, the loss of family and friends... This war the Valar called us to fight was to end Morgoth’s hold on our homeland of old and yet…how many thousands of our folk from Aman perished? Death is not natural for our folk, and yet in spite of the Valar’s sacred promise, our trust has been betrayed. Our folk have died. So very many have died...” She paused, shaking her head sorrowfully, blinking back tears.

“And now, Arafinwë, Eärendil, you ask of us to build a relationship with Mortals: creatures who are destined by their very nature to be brief and to die. No matter how well intended your desires and how logical your motivations, for I do see the sense in what you are proposing, the ending can only result in grief for our people. In time, Ingwë may come around and agree with you once his own grief over our latest losses has passed, however…” Her voice grew stern as she locked the two with her steely gaze.

“You need to understand that the folk with whom you deal now will not be the same folk with whom you will deal later. Trade agreements and commerce and friendship constantly will have to be renewed all over again with each successive generation of Mortals. What begins easily now with close kin, may well change later when kinship is farther removed or even forgotten. I encourage you to discuss thoroughly any ideas you may have of pursuing such an agreement with Númenor and consider it well before you take action.”

Glancing toward the closed door, she stepped back from the table. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to check on my lord and see if there is anything I can do to ease his pain. Good day to you.”

Everyone rose, bowing and curtseying their respect, as the queen turned and glided out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

As they all took their seats once again, Olwë quietly said, “Arafinwë, Eärendil, I support this venture. You will have my ships and I will gladly work with your folk in assisting the Mortals of Númenor. Perhaps with our influence, they will prosper and become friends to our folk as well as trusted trade partners in spite of what the queen has said.”

“Thank you,” Arafinwë said, inclining his head to his wife’s atar. “I will meet with you later and we can go over the information I have from Elros and what Ingwion and I discussed with him.”

“I would like to be part of that discussion as well,” Ingwion quietly intoned. “I honestly do not know if my atar was speaking as Ingaran or Vanyaran, but I do know that his emotions were speaking for him. He has not grieved for our losses yet, and I believe it has finally caught up with him. Give him some time, a few years perhaps,” he laughed mirthlessly. “And atar may well come round. The Mortals do not have years. We need to help them now.”

“Then let us discuss this now,” Olwë offered, “while out councils are present, and see what we can do. No trade can begin until the kingdom of Númenor is established, but we can offer our help before then.”

Olwë turned to the atar of the Númenorean king. “Eärendil, if you could please begin and tell us what you know and then we can progress to the things Ingwion and Arafinwë discussed. The lands can shape the people, and I would know more of the lands and the sea around them before I consider any trade agreements with the people who will live there.”

Giving a grateful nod, Eärendil began.

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Ingaran – High King of the Elves of Aman

Vanyaran – King of the Vanyar

Lindaran – King of the Lindar (Teleri)